Betrayal
by ckittykatty
Summary: Continuation of sundaysundeas oneshot,Sam has turned Danny into the GiW.A year later,they bring Sam to see him.He wanted revenge,and got it.But...How can he close the hole she left...How can Danny close his heart?bad sum,good story,second person
1. Chapter 1

**Kay, this is a oneshot by sundaysundaes, I'm just continuing it. First chapter's her's, the rest are mine.**

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><p>You got the call a few minutes ago, and you fly through the skies at breakneck speeds—<em>she sounded nervous, she must've been in trouble<em>. When you phase through the roof of the gymnasium, you're still only worried about her safety, about saving her and beating the crap out of whatever ghost currently terrorizing her.

It doesn't take long to find her, standing in the middle of the room with her head hanging down. You fly towards her as you scope the area. Your brow wrinkles in confusion—your ghost sense hasn't gone off and she seems to be alone—but you quickly dismiss it. As you walk towards her, you start to think this is more of an emotional emergency instead of a ghostly one. Your heart goes out to the Goth in front of you.

"Sam?" you ask. Permission to step closer. Permission to let you help her.

She lifts her eyes off the ground and you're more than surprised to find tears swimming in those amethyst eyes you've fallen in love with.

You close the distance in a heartbeat and mumble her name again. An assurance that you're right there.

You're too busy looking into her eyes that you don't notice something sneaking at the corners of your vision. You don't notice the white flash that means the end of your freedom. All you feel is the sharp sting of the dart as it lodges itself in between your shoulder blades.

Black clouds your eyesight and the world starts to go blurry. But you manage to catch sight of two glowing lavender eyes gazing back at you. You don't know the expression that surrounds the eyes, but you start to hope against hope that it's horror instead joy. The eyes blink and she talks to you for the first time since you came to "rescue" her.

"I'm sorry."

You barely catch it; the darkness is encroaching. You'll never be sure if you heard it right. You'll never be positive that she was ever sorry at all.

Finally, you realize that you can't fight off the numbness in your body any longer and let it constrict you, allowing yourself to tumble into a barrel of unconsciousness.

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><p>You don't want to open your eyes.<p>

You've been bordering on conscious for a few minutes now and don't want to face what might be behind the familiar dull red of your eyelids. The memory of your last conscious moments has come out and you don't want to accept what it might mean.

You hope somehow all of this links to a good ending, and not to what you're forbidding yourself to think. You paint a picture in your head of a surprise party planned by all your friends and (somehow) drugging you being the only way they could think of so you wouldn't complain. That they did it because they love you and wanted you take a break from all your hard work.

But that's fools hope and you know it.

When you are able to start processing smells again, you've almost come to grips with what you're sure has happened to you. The too-clean smell floating around is only a confirmation to those fears.

After an eternal moment, you dare to open your eyes. You want to close them right back up and pretend you're not seeing what you are.

Everything is white. The walls of the small square room. The door. Your bed. Your clothes. Your blanket. The dresser in the corner. _Everything_.

You immediately reach for the cold corner of your mind, hoping to fly madly away from this evil place and never look back. Nothing happens.

You try again and focus your energy. Ectoplasm roars underneath the surface of your skin, molten, begging to be released. But it stays in place. You look at the small bracelet that covers your right wrist and groan. _Of course_ they wouldn't let you keep your powers.

The door slams open and you cringe away from the two men that enter your room. One of them is holding a small box with a button on it and you instantly know what it does.

You glare at them, dealing them with your worst glower minus the glowing green eyes. With the anger boiling in your system, a small spark of emerald energy fizzles out of your curled fingers. You don't notice, but the man with the box certainly does.

He pushes the button and suddenly your world is nothing but pain.

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><p>When they first drag you into the pristine, white laboratory, you struggle as much as you can, even make escape attempts once or twice. Every time, the guy with the box shocks you and knocks stars into your brain.<p>

They strap you to a table and you scream. You shout. You do anything to make them stop what they're about to do.

They continue on like if they hadn't heard you.

When the doctor makes the first incision, you flail around instinctively, recoiling away from the sharp scalpel they are pressing into your abdomen. The doctor barks for guards to hold you still.

You can't move against their strong hold. You're trapped.

They poke and prod inside of you for thirteen eternities, and all you can do is let the tears squeeze out of your eyes from the unbearable pain.

After that, you continue to struggle against their attempts to experiment on you, but never as hard as the first time.

Eventually, you just stop fighting it. This is your miserable life now, and you have to learn to accept that.

You stop crying. You stop screaming. You stop trying to struggle. You just let it be.

At first, the doctors congratulate you, admiring the progress that you have made. You don't talk to them. But then, they start to worry for you, and you can't even summon the emotion to smile halfheartedly at the irony of that.

They try to get you to talk, and they tone down the experiments for a few days. The meals become more regular and they actually make an effort to keep you healthy.

You still don't care.

They have a plan to get you out of your shell. It starts out the same as any other day. The two men come into your room, though it's more of an escort now that they don't have to drag you out of your bed kicking and screaming.

When you pass the dissecting room, a tiny trickle of confusion makes it past your barrier of emotionlessness. Today is Monday. Mondays they open you up and take a look inside you to see if anything has changed.

You immediately slam down the confusion and continue to walk. You don't care.

The two men lead you into a room you've never been in before. You can't help but raise an eyebrow, though that's more out of habit than actual feeling. The room is gray, a deep contrast from the white that has inhabited your life for the past year, and there's a table and two chairs in the center. It's an interrogation room.

But they have nothing to interrogate you for. They've already sat you down and forced you to tell them all your secrets and weaknesses. There's nothing else to tell.

You walk into the room with the guy with the shock box, leaving the other man to close the door behind him. Kyle—as you've found out his name is—leads you to a chair and tells you to sit down.

You don't even think about objecting. You just do it.

Kyle goes to stand into the corner and stays there. You meet his eyes for a second and he smiles at you.

You don't shudder, like you used to when any of the doctors used to smile at you. Kyle has grown to be someone you would've liked, if you ever cared about making friends in this hellhole. He actually seems to have a heart and only shocks you when you do something drastic. He hasn't shocked you in almost three months.

You don't even try to return his smile; you simply turn.

Your fingers start to tap—another habit you haven't been able to break—as the minutes tick by.

When the door opens, you barely glance up—but what you see makes you want to cry and suddenly, you're fighting against a wave of the emotions you thought you'd banished.

She walks into the room behind a guard, who leaves promptly once she's seated.

You're still frozen.

She's changed from the last time you've seen her, of course she had. Her hair is slightly longer, and she's grown out of her pretty features and into a beautiful woman.

But you don't care about what she looks like; you'd grown out of that shallow thinking long ago, before you'd even been captured.

"Hi, Danny," she whispers.

With her voice, you're able to find leverage again. Your heart lifts and a genuine smile actually tries to play on your lips. But that's easily squashed down by the roaring fire that's lapping at your veins.

"Sam," you say, clipping her name, setting your jaw into that emotionless mask you've worn for a little less than a year now.

She flinches and you take sick pleasure out of that.

"H—how have you been?" she asks unsurely.

You can't help it; the question is just too funny. You laugh.

She leans away from you, as if that reaction was the last thing she was expecting. Hell, maybe it was. You still don't care though.

"How have I _been?"_ you growl, and you're totally satisfied when it comes out sounding a bit maniacal around your laughter. "How have I _been_? _That's_ what you ask?" You shake your head and a twisted smile lights your face. You're kind of glad Kyle can't see the expression from behind you. "You turn me in to the Guys in White, and you ask _how I've been?_"

"I—I," she stutters. More words try to make it past her lips, but you don't give her the chance to keep talking.

"How do you _think_ I've been?" you snap. "They _ripped me open _and _dissected_ me! They turned my brain into _mush_! I turned myself into a freakin' _zombie_!" You breathe in—out—try to stop the anger that's shooting into your veins like liquid fire. But the dam's been broken and there's no bottling up your emotions anymore.

There are tears in her eyes, but you couldn't care less. _Let_ her suffer. _Let_ her have a small taste of you've had to endure for all this time, feeling unloved and being mutilated every other day.

You're too focused on calming down your breathing and staring down into those pools of watering purple that you don't notice the molten magma of your ghost half swimming just underneath your skin. It is feeding off the fire of your anger and slowly pulsing in a very familiar way.

You haven't felt like this in a long, but you hardly notice, only chalk it up as a side effect of letting yourself feel again, especially as she starts to talk again.

"I'm so sorry, Danny."

The magma rolls inside of you. "You're sorry," you say flatly, still struggling with your breathing.

She nods.

"You're sorry!" you shriek, having lost the battle to contain your swirling anger. "You let me rot in here for a_ year_, and you're _sorry?_! Hah! If you'd been _sorry_," you twist the word, making it into the worst blasphemy ever uttered, "then you wouldn't have turned me in, in the first place!"

Her tears have fallen over. "You don't understand," she tries to say. "I needed—"

"You needed _what?_" you bite. "Oh, please tell me what the little rich girl needed _so_ badly, she turned in her best friend for it."

Her mouth moves, but no words make it out.

The chair crashes to the floor as you stand up. "You don't deserve to live," you whisper, and you're shocked that the words even made it past your own mouth. But once you hear it out loud, you realize it's true, that she doesn't deserve to live after all she's put you through.

The magma of your ghost half roars underneath your fingers, green lighting curling into existence around the cuff that had neutralized your powers ever since you'd been here.

Sam's eyes widen and you vaguely hear it when Kyle tells you to calm down, the threat of pushing the button of his box hanging over your head.

You barely notice when the bracelet on your wrist cracks in half at the power you are pushing into it. You barely take note of the fact that Kyle has started to call for backup and Sam is currently shying away from your angered form.

The world is spinning red, and for just a second, your eyes return to that ghostly green they haven't been in for far too long. But the green is easily crashed down by the crimson that fills every corner of your mind, telling,_ begging_, you to step forward and make the little witch that put you through all this hell _pay_.

You take a step forward and a sharp bolt of crimson energy smashes into the table. You're out for blood. You want_ revenge_. And now you're free to get it.

When she starts to scream, all you can do is laugh, letting the supernatural wind you created slap your hair away from your face. You take another step forward and let the crimson of your power flow through your fingertips. You laugh again, delighting at how the temperature has dropped.

For the first time since you've entered this prison, you smile happily. With another twist of your wrist, a cracking sound fills the room and her lifeless body falls to the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's my writing, tell me if I suck!**

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><p>Satisfaction. That is all you feel. The witch, lying on the floor, is dead. That's a victory. In your book. You hear voices, fragments of sentences filter in your ear.<p>

_"... pushed the button I don't know how many... Unconscious?"_

_"... dead. No... Phantom?"_

_"I'll... Don't worry."_

_"... punish him?"_

_"... dissect..."_

How many people were in here, you wonder. The "doctor", Kyle, a couple others. One man is coming toward you, you and your ignited hands. Truly, sometimes you wonder the intelligence of these people.

Suddenly you're restrained from the back, the man was just a distraction! A new bracelet is placed on your charred wrist, you fight them just like the first day.

But this isn't like the first day.

No, on the first day you were fighting and wondering why Sam did it.

Now, a small part of you is wondering why _you_ did it.

But you wouldn't have done it if Sam didn't. So, this must be _her_ fault, right? All of this. All the pain she caused, all the hollow nights in your "room". Insomniac beginnings, for the only place you felt was in your dreams. The haunting images of Sam, your once beautiful angel, now your evil damner, attacking, like physical blows... to your one weak spot: Your open heart.

It was closed, until she opened it again.

That is why you did it. She made you feel. She made you live here for who knows how long.

No, not this place.

Your place.

Your mind.

Your poisoned mind. The crippling images of death, your death, are now plastered there with longing. You want it more than everything.

But why did she do it?

Why would she feel the impluse, like you feel to death, to betray? To leave you in the hands of people who want nothing more than your blood in their hands. No, you want your blood _on_ their hands. You want your death on their hands.

That's different than suicidal.

You struggle as they bring you to the evil dissection room. Who invented dissection? Did they know it would be preformed on a fifteen year old boy? Who's once still, cold heart beats anew, with blood and feelings.

And doubts.

You scream. For the first time, in a long time, you scream. It feels good to scream. You are screaming not because of the current pain. Not completely. But for all the other times. The other times they scarred you. The other times they went inside you. Like they had the right. Like they owned you! You are no ones! You aren't even your own.

Now there is not only screams, but tears as well. But... why? Tears? They are foreign to you. They haven't skated upon your face for years now. Until a year ago, they were always close. Always a possiblity. But once you stopped feeling... products of emotions ceased as well. You have not laughed, nor cried, nor joked after that first week. You were a robot.

Now... Your "circuts" are replaced with veins. You have blood. You feel. As nightmarish as that sounds. You feel the transformation, like you own. You missed it. This one, this new one, is welcome. Change... Change is good.

You continue you screams, your fits. Anger welling up inside you, begging to get out again. Just as you did with Sam. How long has it been? Minutes? Seconds? Hours or days? Why is time unforgiving?

Why didn't he intervene?

Reasons untold.

Continuing your struggle is all you can manage. You have noticed the doctor has stopped cutting, due to your new found fire. He is yelling at you to stop. They all are. Stop before you harm youself.

Funny, they were harming you, you thought.

Your skin now burns with the fire that has been set by this people's words. Your complete outrage lends to more shouting and crying and stinging and screaming. Your mind, not broken, is aching. Your body, it yells and moans. Soon, what use to be accusitory words turn to hiccups and sobs. Your voice... _nothing._ They never listened to it.

Now reality is shattering, the glass of which it was made of careening toward the groung and your unprotected body. You scream as it turns to acid rain, burning away who you are. You feel the transformation.

The transformation isn't like it was at first.

The beginning was the opening. The _beginning._ Now, it is the Realization. You now realize what you have become.

Not who, what.

Not you, it.

But you try to refuse. You turn, fight against everything.

You are you.

Not an it.

You will fix it.

Out of that room, all anyone can hear is your strangled screams. That is the sound of death.

You have an unwanted audience. And her heart breaks at your distress.

And your sounds.

That is true nightmare.

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><p><strong>i will never live up to the length of the first chapter, i fear. i hope i do! enjoy! buttons!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**I got a review that I just fell in love with! Assassin4life, a shout out for you! Plus, the original author reviewed! I'm very happy!**

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><p>Inhuman sounds, splattered red, angry words and shouts. They all continue for too long, trapped in this place of incompleteness. You're shouts seem to echo three times louder back to your ears. You feel as if they were melting, the world was so loud. You're throat stings from the strain you place it under, your screams and bloodcurdling cries. Your heartbreaking cries.<p>

They long ago quit with the scalpel, your thrashings disrupting that. You would feel satisfaction, if you could feel anything but the gaping hole in your chest. The once beating place. Your tortured cries fill the empty spaces, while something else resides there.

Is that...

_Love?_

It could not be. You killed that feeling long ago, when Sam killed it with vile.

They command you to quiet down, calm down. Think. Be reasonable. You took your bracelet off, they need to see if that ruined anything inside. You might ruin their experiments! That would bad indeed.

It's been an hour and you can no longer make a sound. The only noise that is emitted by you is rushing air in and out of your mouth and lungs. You are lying still, breathing heavily. You find difficultly in moving, your body aches from the actions you have put it through.

Your breathing resembles a two old's that just finished a tantrum, or a marathon runner's. And it hurts... Constant torture... That you bring to yourself by doing what you are suppose to do.

Try to live.

The "doctor" smiles at you, saying how proud he is that you came to your senses. That you could've hurt yourself. Too bad you didn't succeed in that.

You feel a small prick in your left arm, but find you cannot move your stone head. The "doctor" nears you with the scalpel once more and you make to move. Nothing. You are frozen, prisoner not to your numb body, but your mind. It has cracked. You believed it to be unbroken, but that was as much as a dream as your old life.

Your life, you mean, for this is no life.

It is postponed death.

The first laceration follows the original Y line. Just like always. You try to scream, perhaps, out of fear, they'll stop, but they reduced your voice to what it as always been to them.

Nothing. Not even there.

Though whatever happened affected your ability to speak, it holds nothing on your hearing.

Your skin on your torso is peeled back like a simple banana. You will never look at a banana the same way again. You might even pity it. The sound is atrocious. You cannot take it longer than you have. The sound... In the background, all that is audible is the lifeless hum of machinery. Dull and lifeless. And sad...

Of course there is pain. Of course you notice it. Of course you try to ignore it. Pain. Parts of you being placed where they should not. Hands probing where they should not. Of course there is pain.

Why would there not be?

Searing, blinding pain that over takes your frozen form. Your mind can cry out... But you cannot.

You lie motionless, your features steel. You don't-can't-scream. You are nothing.

He continues, noting aloud your abnormality. As if waking up every... day didn't remind you of that fact.

As if being here didn't remind you.

You realize you are able to blink. So that is what you do. Constantly. Blink. _Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink._

The "doctor" gives you his "concerned" gaze. "Boy, are you alright?" You remain silent, but not by your own devices. "Phantom? Are you listening?"

_Unfortunately..._

"How effective was that sedative, Operative O?" he asks a burly man with blond, buzzed hair.

"I leveled it to a simple three point four, why?"

"Well, I wanted him calm, not brain dead." The "doctor" turns back to you. You act "brain dead".

"Maybe he isn't brain dead, perhaps he just isn't able to speak? He was blinking earlier..."

"Yes," he responded, stroking his chin. "Phantom." It is a quick, barked demand. You don't blink, like he wants you to.

"Okay... Here, I will ask you yes or no questions and you will blink once for yes, twice for no. Got that?"

You get an idea. But... This is what the _old_ Danny would have done. You are not him. But... This new Danny deserves entertainment as well.

You blink twice.

The blond one scoffs. "See? He's fine."

The "doctor" nods and continues your torture.

Another thing on you works, also.

Your tears.

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><p>You lie aloof on your bed. Having to be carried here, your body still aches from when they dropped you. You. A ninety pounds when wet boy.<p>

Pathetic government agents. They can't even lift a boy one third their size.

With assistance from three others.

After the four Idiots in White delivered you to your "room", you found you had gained back a bit of control in your right leg.

The world hates you too much for the other.

You smirk when you find you can wiggle your fingers. You have control over your whole hand now. You keep moving them, trying to gain motion in the rest of your arm by circulation the blood.

Once that task is done, you fling your arm over your body. You're tired. You're unsure. You can't take this feeling any longer. This nagging question. This sudden feeling of... _something_ nagging you as well.

_Why did they bring Sam?_

It wraps your mind like steel bars, reminding you of your prison. You're trapped here because of her. Someone you thought you loved... sold you out, like you were nothing. She gave you away for whatever it was she "needed" so badly. She sold you.

And your trust.

The feeling, oddly hanging in your chest, is crippling. You feel you have to hold it in with your hand pressed heavily over it. Never before had you heart beat this fast.

But... Why? What would make it do that?

Adrenaline.

You are having an adrenaline rush.

What was in that sedative, anyway?

You know you have to get rid of all this adrenaline, so you begin to walk around your "room". You note all the details you failed to notice during the past year. Has it really been a year? You can't believe it. It feels like you've been here forever. Never have you seen light. You just wake up when they tell you. You asked only once what the day was. Never did you need to ask again. Simple. Mondays, you are vivisected. Yes, you know what it is called. You once said something about it to them.

You absolutely hated their responce.

"A vivisection is when you proform a disection on a living, conscious creature."

You enjoyed your punch to the gut. Their suggestion that you are not human... left you empty.

Tuesdays were reserved for dining. They tried to get you to eat other days, like Wednesday, but you don't even eat on the designated day.

Wednesdays. They are nothing. They used to be a marker for the week, but now... You do nothing on this day.

Thursday you dread as much as Mondays. This is the day they assigned as "Experiment Day". The worst part, they haven't begun them yet. You don't know when they will, either.

Fridays. Ah, yes. Celebrate? No. You used to love this day. This was the day that you, Tucker and... You would go to the movies, eat pizza. Do everything every teenager would do.

What did they belittle it to?

Scanners line the walls. Heavy breathing. They wish to know how you work. What make you _tick_. You have emotions? Impossible. You can think, adept? Improbable. You are a ghost.

Well, half ghost.

Making you their prized experiment, 22002100398890. Yes, they love you.

Like a guinea pig.

The way they look at you...

Like a mad scientist at a rat.

A fat, white rat.

Like you are a thing, a possession.

Their possession.

Not you, it.

Not who, what.

_"What are its vitals?"_

_"What did it do this time?"_

And, on the very first day, some: _"What is 'Phantom'?"_

Yes, what is Phantom?

What could _it_ be?

What does _it_ want?

Peace.

Salvation.

TO BE LEFT ALONE!

What a dream.

You venture into your bathroom. You hardly ever come in here. What need is there? To use the toilet, that's it. You don't bathe, what a silly notion. Who will see you, who will care? The Guys in White? No. They prefere you this way, like a dirty, dirty animal. Who should not be loved.

Nor clean.

It proves further that you are below them, that they are better than you.

There is a mirror. A covered mirror. You remember the first day. You broke it. You slamed you fist into it, and you broke it. Seven years. One down, six to go.

But how can you be any unluckier?

You skim your fingers across the gray plastic cover. You scoff. They replaced the mirror, how sweet. Yes, you want to see it. You wish to see a monster. You desire to see yourself. Your gritty reflection. Yes, that is what want.

Along with peace.

Salvation.

To be left to yourself.

That is as much reality as your true desires.

You pull the obstruction away from the object you will lash out at.

It drops to the floor like a discarded garment, made of fine silk. That is the closest you will get to silk, you're sure of it.

You turn back to the mirror.

And gasp.

Your face is hollow, a memory of Danny, a ghost.

Just as you are.

Your hair remains normal, which is somewhat pleasent. You devulge in the fact that that remains the same. You are connected to Danny. You are closer to your life.

You look at the mirror, not yourself. You bring your fist back.

You pull it from the mirror, smiling at the shards that stick out, but you receive no pain. You wait.

At last the red lights caress your form. You love how they color your features dramaticly. You smile.

They are coming for you.

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><p><strong>its still really short. :( Oh well, it'll get longer. I need major help with the summary.<strong>

**Review! Or I shall send Ember to your doorsteps!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Wow, another chapter... Where did _this_ come from...? The world may never know.**

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><p>There is angry shouts out in the hall. You laugh. They are coming for you.<p>

You slightly smile, a smirk, your teeth are faintly yellow. Along with showers, you abandoned brushing your teeth.

A loud bang comes from your room. That makes your smirk wider. They are coming for you.

Finally they gain enough brains to bust into your bathroom. An exceptionally burly man shoves you against the open door, binding your wrists with handcuffs. You laugh, even through you know you should be in pain from the fact that he is pushing your face against the door by pushing the back of your head, roughly. You laugh slightly, causing the man to slam you again. You close your eyes tightly. That one hurt.

"Careful," a familiar voice instructs. It is Kyle, the one you might've liked, the one with an actual personality. Ain't that sweet? Him "standing up" for you? His best little project. His favorite little freak.

"Why bother? It's too primitive to even understand me or you. It no longer responds to the tests anymore," says Operative O, the man who watched you in the dissection room, laughing. The same one who is pushing you against the door. You hate this man more than anyone in the facility, even Kyle. Well... You hate the "doctor" more. That you admit.

"Who says he doesn't understand? Tests mean nothing. He's half human, correct?" Kyle waits for the other man to do whatever, you suppose it is nodding but you can't tell because you are still pushed against the door, your eyes squeezing tightly. "Maybe you hurt him into silence."

The other man's voice raises. He is angry, you conclude. "What is wrong with you? I can't believe the President put you in charge of this assignment! You're practically still a rookie!" You are slammed into the door again, like you are just something someone would take their anger out on. Oh wait, you are. He continues, "Why do you stick up for this piece of trash? It's _nothing_. Hear that?" You feel the undesired attention in the room shift to you. "You are _nothing_. _No. Thing. _You are ungrateful and undeserving. That's right, you don't deserve to live. It's a good thing you're not alive."

You do not respond. You do not move. You need to control you're anger, you know that. This man may not do so, but you _have_ to. You have supernatural powers, this man does not. This man, Operative O, cannot kill someone on accident, or on purpose, with supernatural, freak, powers. You can. And you did.

He slams you again. Then he laughs. Like you and your silence is amusing. Calm, you think to yourself, he is trying to get a reaction. He will not get one, you promise.

Kyle intercepts. "We have to take him to Mr. D. And I don't think he'd like it if his... _prized experiment_ was roughed up, so let's go."

You feel the anger boil yet again beneath your Caucasian skin, _prized experiment_, but you work hard to push it down, back into that pit you once called a heart. It is just a hole now. An empty, beating, burning, screaming hole. That hole hurts more than anything you've ever faced, and the pain continues to grow with each breath you take, like living is the true pain.

You focus on anything-everything-but that pain. You choose Kyle. He's a tall man, dark skinned, and he wears the white onsomble the rest of them wear. He doesn't have the black sun glasses as does the rest and he has a bit of hair on his head, unlike the rest of the African American agents. You have always know him as Kyle, even though you have heard the other agents and operatives call him something else. Always just Kyle.

Just like the first day. Just Kyle.

They brought you into a dark, but white-walled, room.

"Where's Sam!" you foamed.

"Shut up, ghost kid!" one yelled, fondling the box you learned to be very unpleasent. It was your second day there. The first day they introduced you to your new accessory. They liked it, you didn't.

"Where's Sam!" you yelled again.

A figure hiding in the shadowed corner loomed toward you. "Calm down, Danny."

"What are you? Should I could you 'sir'?" you spat. "Or 'Head Moron'?"

The figure, a tall, loosely built African American man, looked straight into your blue eyes with his brown ones. "Just Kyle."

* * *

><p>Operative O shoves you into a white-of course, what other color would it be? Pink?-room and slams the door behind you and Kyle.<p>

"Agent C, please take a seat," says a gruff voice, a shadow in a window. You feel his gaze on you for a few long-lasting seconds before he adverts his attention back to Kyle... Er... Agent C... "What is its elemental basis?" the shadow asks.

"Well... Director, Sir... We haven't been able to get proper testing due to the inability to cooperate from another ghost, 22002100398895. She's being very difficult... We have asked her multiply times to comply... She won't particapate in her tests, constantly showing us her pony tail, telling us we are too dumb to notice it's on fire..."

The shadow hums as the words sink into you. Fire for hair? It can't be...

"Any specimens similar to 22002100398890?"

"There is one... _similar_ to him, but she does not have as much human plasma as him... Only twenty-five percent... Experiment 22002100398891..."

The Director nods for him to continue.

"Phantom, Danielle..."

Your eyes widen. It can't be...

Dani? Here?

No...

"Is 22002100398890 ready for experimenting?"

"Well... Director, Sir... We haven't seen any changes in his anatomy... I-"

"Do you believe it's ready for Experimental Design Thirty?"

Kyle looks down at his papers, perhaps glaring for being cut off. He looks back up to the shadow, his anger subdued.

The shadow continues, "I have heard that 22002100398890 has acted up recently... Injuring another... Fatal wounds, of course? Then, I heard, it damaged Guys in White property. _Government_ property. Is this correct, Agent C?"

Kyle is looking at his papers once again. "... Yes," he tells them.

"Do you believe it is ready for the experiments you have set up?" the shadow presses.

Kyle glances up from his papers and to you, his eyes almost asking "Ready to be put through even more hell?" as they glint in the flourescences. You don't answer in any way, but he looks back to his files and then to the shadow. "... I suppose he is..."

* * *

><p>"This is the Green House," Kyle announces. You are still shaken from your visit to the Director, but you nod along with your tour of your "new" life. "This is where you will spend Thursdays..."<p>

You become rigid. Thursdays? As in, Experiment Day?

Kyle senses your tension. "Don't worry, Danny... It took me a while, but I got them to give you the least painful of them all. It's just the Green House..."

You look out the window of the sound booth he brought youto. You see a blob ghost, shierking and holding its head... At least, you think it is shierking, with its mouth being open and all, but you can't tell due to the sound booth being sound proof. Your eyes widen at the scene, though. Not painful? Oh, no. He said _least_ painful. Still, you tense.

"Don't worry," he repeats. He turns you to look him in the eye and meets your level by getting on his knees. "Danny, don't be afraid of that... The ghost is not used to these climates... But you're human... You'll be fine, better than fine. You have ectoplasm in you, that means you can withstand colder temperatures." He smiles lightly. "You'll be fine."

You stare at each other for a while before he asks, "Danny? Will you do me a favor?"

You hesitate before nodding.

"Look for her..."

* * *

><p>Who? Who her?<p>

That is what haunts you as you walk the length of your room.

Dani?

Or...

No.

No.

No, no, no. _No._

She's dead.

You can't look for her.

She's dead.

Like you are...

* * *

><p>Kyle smiles at you. "Please?"<p>

You shake your head.

"Danny, please?"

Just because you've taken a certain... _liking_ to him does not mean you will do what ever he asks.

It is Tuesday. Kyle wants you to eat a cup of applesause.

You shake your head.

He sighs and places it on the white-of course-table. "Alright."

You start. Did he just say alright? Did he just give into you? You glance at him.

"Well, I'm not gonna force you..."

You glance and glare from him to the cup.

_What's your game?_ you think, staring at him. You reach your hand out and grab the food. You bring the spoon to your mouth and your stomach screams in such delight that the cup is gone in two seconds. You try to look like you don't want more.

"Thank you," Kyle whispers, taking the cup. He returns with a full one.

You cross your arms over your chest.

"I'm not gonna make you..."

* * *

><p>You hate him sometimes...<p>

Ten cups of applesause...

_Ten..._

He's good.

* * *

><p><strong>Damn, still short. Ended on a happy note though! I love it! Hope you guys love it! Reviews are loved always... Plus, the next one is Thursday... What will happen? You'll never know if you don't review... (evil laugh now...)<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

All stories of mine are discontinued, sorry for any inconvenience this provides.


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